


What Happens in the Supply Closet

by B52



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Confessions, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, Trapped In A Closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 05:19:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16510103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B52/pseuds/B52
Summary: Pudding's evening takes an unexpected turn.





	What Happens in the Supply Closet

Pudding had been trying his absolute hardest, but he quite honestly could not think of any worse way to spend his evening than stuck in a tiny storage room with his acquaintance, or archenemy, or kind-of-friend-who-actually-hated-him, or whatever term would be appropriate to refer to Omurice with. Even getting stuck with bathroom cleaning duties after a visit from a destructive customer would have been preferable—at least then he would’ve been by himself, not to mention that there would’ve been a light at the end of the tunnel, because he would’ve been aware that once he finished scrubbing everything a thousand times over he’d have been done with it. He wouldn’t have been crouching there for an indeterminate amount of time, wishing a hole would open up in the floor so he could fall through into an abyss, nor would he have been overheated and dripping with sweat. Of course, he was sure he would’ve had other complaints had he been cleaning at that moment; somehow he still felt he would’ve enjoyed it more than this.

Omurice huffed for the hundredth time, scuffing his shoe against the wall, and the frustration that had been bubbling up inside Pudding reached a boil at last. He didn’t bother to dignify Omurice’s actions with a verbal response and instead shot him a heated glare that, even in the dim light, caught Omurice’s attention and made him shrink back, withering into himself. At least he had the decency to look ashamed, Pudding supposed, watching Omurice draw his legs up to his chest and direct his gaze to the adjacent wall. In fairness to him, there weren’t a lot of places to look; they’d gotten stuck in this supply closet when the door had locked behind them, and despite their best efforts—Pudding grimaced at the memory of his polite calling out for help versus Omurice’s panicked screeching—nobody had come to save them yet. The floor was dusty and the only light was provided by the crack under the door and the shelves were stocked with unlabeled boxes of spices, and the room was so small that even with the doorknob digging into Pudding’s side and Omurice flattening himself against the other wall, they couldn’t manage to get more than a couple inches apart. He supposed he should consider himself lucky that neither of them was very claustrophobic, but it was still incredibly uncomfortable being so close to Omurice.

Omurice cleared his throat, breaking the thick, oppressive silence that had settled over them. “So,” he said, his voice somehow small in this confined space. “Do you think anyone’s gonna notice we’re missing?”

“I should very well hope so,” Pudding muttered, shuddering at the thought of being stuck here for an extended period of time. Though he didn’t have a clock, he estimated they’d been in here for at least half an hour, which was half an hour too long.

“Well…” Omurice swallowed, and Pudding cast a glance at him to see him fidgeting, wringing his hands not unlike a worried old lady. “I-I mean, what if nobody figures it out until, like, tomorrow?”

“Please don’t say that.” Pudding held back a groan, settling instead for dragging his hand over his face, only to regret it when he realized his palm was now not only clammy, but soaked with sweat. Why was it so hot in this accursed closet?

“I’m just saying it’s a possibility.”

Pudding didn’t respond, already exhausted by the very idea of spending an entire night with Omurice. He had to admit, though—and thank the heavens for it—Omurice was the slightest bit more bearable than Pudding had expected him to be. It was as if once they were alone and there was no one to impress, Omurice let whatever ridiculous mask he wore fall away. He was no longer loud and prideful and immensely frustrating to be around. Granted, their conversation so far had been curt, but he could tell there was a difference. Omurice was vulnerable somehow, more so than Pudding had ever seen him—softer, smaller, more human. It was almost pleasant. It might even have been more than _almost_ pleasant had Pudding not been positive that Omurice despised him and was only being polite because… perhaps he was more claustrophobic than Pudding had realized.

“Um,” Omurice tried again, unwilling to let them fall into a permanent silence. “Uh… I’m sorry. I guess.”

Pudding blinked at him. “What are you talking about?” he asked, nonplussed. He ran through every Omurice-related list in his head, trying to think of anything Omurice had done recently that warranted an apology, and came up empty.

“For being rude,” Omurice clarified. “Not, like, right now… all the time.”

“Oh,” Pudding said flatly. Right. That. That did indeed warrant an apology.

“I don’t mean to,” Omurice said, his voice dropping so low that Pudding found himself unconsciously leaning closer to hear him. “I mean, I’m not rude on purpose. I’m not really good at, like, talking, to be honest. Um, and with you, it’s… well, y’know.”

“Sure,” Pudding said. He was frankly mystified by Omurice’s garbled last sentence, but he did get that at least some of Omurice’s impolite behavior was unintentional, which, now that Pudding thought about it, explained a lot.

“Yeah, so… I’m sorry.”

Omurice, who had been pointedly averting his gaze the entire time, dared to look at Pudding, and for a second they locked eyes. Pudding couldn’t for the life of him explain why, but he felt his face flush and his pulse quicken and the room heat up another couple degrees, and he dropped his gaze, searching for anything to busy himself with. Of course there was nothing, so he settled for dusting off his pants even though he knew full well it would do no good in a room filled to the brim with dust.

“I forgive you,” he said, because although he hadn’t really been planning to respond, it somehow felt wrong not to.

“Oh,” Omurice said. “Thanks.”

Dust bunnies floated lazily around them. A few dried leaves drifted from somewhere on a shelf, stirred by their presence in the room, and tangled themselves in Omurice’s hair. The heady scent of herbs grew ever stronger. There was more silence, and now Pudding found himself with the inexplicable urge to break it, and he did so with the first thought that popped into his head.

“I owe you an apology too,” he said.

“What? I mean, you haven’t really been rude—”

“That isn’t why I’m apologizing,” Pudding said curtly, cutting him off before remembering with a feeling of horror that that was a terrible approach to take when offering an apology. What on earth had gotten into him? “Do you remember… all those years ago, with your Master Attendant…” He trailed off, unwilling to recount it in detail.

“Yeah,” Omurice said quietly.

“Yes,” Pudding said. “Well. I’m sorry… for that. I realize now that it did no one any good for me to try to point out to her that you weren’t who she thought, and I sincerely apologize, Omurice.”

“It’s okay.” Omurice shrugged. “I get it. I’m not really still mad about it.”

Pudding nodded, finding himself at a loss for words. This was the last way he would’ve expected this evening to go, although he supposed he couldn’t complain. Yes, Omurice was often exasperating and had too much energy and was so loud it hurt Pudding’s ears, but if Pudding was being honest with himself, he couldn’t quite bring himself to hate Omurice—or even dislike him, for that matter. It wasn’t too difficult to find Omurice’s clumsiness with words endearing, especially now that he understood how very unintentional it was; it was easy to watch his exaggerated hand movements and cheesy expressions and oblivious demeanor and find him rather cute; it was near impossible not to be warmed by his silly grin, the kind of smile that lit up his entire face and was infectious to those around him. He shook his head—again, what had gotten into him? Allowing himself to consider the potential that Omurice didn’t hate him seemed to have opened up a whole new world of thoughts about Omurice.

“Hey, so…” Omurice spoke again, his voice still soft, and Pudding gave up on leaning in and instead just shifted closer to him. He was far too aware that their legs were now pressed together, though he counted his blessings in that Omurice didn’t seem to notice. “Um, you know I don’t really hate you, right?”

“How in the world would I have known that?” Pudding muttered, more to himself than to Omurice. “No, I wasn’t aware, actually.”

“Sorry,” Omurice said quickly. “I-I don’t. Hate you, I mean. I don’t hate you.”

“Yes, that’s good to know.” Pudding tugged at his collar—the room seemed to only be getting hotter and hotter. He was starting to doubt it was caused by purely environmental factors, though the thought that it was because he was blushing made him wish he could disappear off the face of the earth. “I don’t hate you, either.”

“Really?” Omurice sounded genuinely surprised, and Pudding felt a pang of guilt at the realization he must’ve seemed quite cold to Omurice. “I always thought, like… I mean, because I’m so annoying and stuff, y’know?”

“I don’t find you terribly annoying,” Pudding said, and it was the truth. “You’re excitable, but I know you mean well.”

“Thanks, I think.” Omurice looked at him again with a funny expression, and was it his imagination or was Omurice very, very slowly getting closer? No, it wasn’t his imagination because now their shoulders were up against each other and he could feel Omurice’s body heat, and oh dear it really was very hot in this closet.

“Yes,” Pudding croaked—when had his throat gotten so dry? “It’s a compliment.”

“I actually think you’re pretty cool,” Omurice said. “I mean, even though you’re, like, Jello’s agent and stuff… um, so I’m supposed to not like you… but—but I think you’re really smart and nice and handsome.”

“Thank y—” Pudding sputtered as his mind caught up to his mouth and he finally registered the last part of Omurice’s sentence. “H-hang on, pardon me?”

Even in this dim lighting, he could see the blush spreading across Omurice’s face, and Pudding was sure he wasn’t faring much better himself, since his entire body felt way too hot. Omurice covered his mouth with his hand like he’d said something he shouldn’t have, shaking his head in what Pudding supposed was a misguided attempt to take back his words. In truth, Pudding wasn’t bothered by Omurice’s compliments—on the contrary, knowing Omurice found him attractive had made his heart skip a couple beats, jumping around in his chest until it found a comfortable place to settle so it could beat hard against his ribcage. He just couldn’t quite figure out how to respond. If his lack of experience with anything along these lines wasn’t enough to throw him for a loop, the fact that, up until just a few minutes ago️, he had been a hundred percent convinced Omurice hated his guts was certainly complicating things. He had never allowed himself to dwell on thoughts like these in the past, both because they would distract him from his work and because needless to say, having any sort of feelings for someone who despised him would only end in pain. Now, though, he was confused beyond belief.

“Sorry,” Omurice mumbled after a long period of awkward silence.

“I don’t mind.” That was an understatement, but it was all Pudding could manage at the moment. “Thank you… for the compliment.”

“Uh huh.” Omurice gulped hard enough for it to be audible. “Um, uh, did… you really not mind?”

“I really didn’t mind.” Pudding offered a weak smile in an attempt to prove his words—he was sure his shaky voice didn’t sound too sincere. “I’m flattered. Please forgive me if my response seemed harsh. I’m simply… not well used to these situations.”

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t spend a lot of time locked in closets either.”

Pudding bit his tongue to keep from snickering at that. “That isn’t quite what I meant. I was referring to… being complimented, really.”

“Oh,” Omurice said. “I can compliment you more if you want.”

“P-pardon?” Pudding stammered, caught off guard yet again. He smoothed his hair down in an attempt to regain his composure, though it just made him more aware of how clammy his palms were, as well as bringing his attention to how much of a mess he must’ve looked. “Well, I… I suppose if you’d like to, I wouldn’t… be opposed to it?”

“I dunno, I guess it’d be weird, right? Like, I’m supposed to hate you and all.” Omurice sounded very unsure of himself, and Pudding couldn’t help but sympathize.

“I don’t think you’re _supposed_ to do anything,” Pudding said. “To the best of my knowledge, nobody is concerned with whether or not you hate me, Omurice. Perhaps Jello is, but I’m sure she’d prefer us to be friends. She does keep telling me that.”

“Really?” Omurice gasped and began bouncing up and down, almost knocking Pudding into the door with his enthusiasm. “Oops, sorry! I just got excited. Like, I didn’t know she’d even care about that.”

“Well…” Pudding hesitated. “She’s been quite insistent that she doesn’t believe your alleged hatred for me is real. I had assumed that was wishful thinking on her part, and perhaps mine as well—ah, I mean—” Well, that was possibly the worst thing he could’ve blurted out. He floundered, searching for some way to save the situation.

“What do you mean?” Omurice peered at him, eyes bright with curiosity and something else that Pudding couldn’t identify.

“I don’t want you to hate me,” Pudding admitted. He found himself unable to look at Omurice, and instead dropped his gaze to his own shoes, which glinted faintly in the fading light from outside the closet. “I’ve never wanted you to hate me. For awhile now, actually, I… ah, forget it, please—”

“I like you,” Omurice said all of a sudden, and Pudding completely lost track of the rest of his sentence.

He raised his head and locked eyes with Omurice, and for what could have been seconds or minutes or hours, they both just stared. Omurice looked as lost as Pudding felt. This had all happened too quickly for Pudding to process any of it—he needed to think, needed to write everything down in his notebook, rationalize and work through it. He needed time, but right now, time was something he didn’t have; Omurice was, he presumed, waiting on a response from him. Taking a deep breath, he searched the depths of his feelings for an answer and found what he’d already known all along—what he’d been too afraid to admit to himself, let alone to anyone else, until now. As he opened his mouth to speak, though, Omurice cut him off.

“I’m sorry!” Omurice put his head in his hands as he spoke. “I don’t… know what I was thinking, I mean, like, that just sort of slipped out, and I’m sorry!”

“Omurice,” Pudding said.

“It was a really dumb thing to say, especially when you’re, like, stuck in a closet with me and we’re gonna be stuck here for hours probably! And now it’s gonna be super awkward the whole time!”

“Omurice.”

“Like, not that it wasn’t awkward already, but it’s gonna be a million times _more_ awkward ‘cause now you know I like you, and that’s why I wasn’t ever gonna tell you, ‘cause it’s weird!”

“Omurice, I—”

Though Pudding couldn’t see Omurice’s face, his voice was watery. “And that’s why I kept acting like I hated you, ‘cause I’ve liked you for a long time but I thought I was just jealous of you but I realized I kinda just wanna be Jello’s best friend but I _like like_ you, but I didn’t want you to ever _know_ that! ‘Cause now you’re gonna think I’m weird and gross! And I’m sure you already thought that but you’re gonna think it even harder now!”

“Omurice!” Pudding barked, wincing at how loud his own voice was in the small closet. “Please let me speak.”

“Right.” Omurice sniffled. “Sorry.”

“Omurice, look at me.” Pudding pursed his lips, watching Omurice stay completely still. “Please?”

Slowly, Omurice raised his head. His eyes were red-rimmed, and Pudding could tell he was doing his best to keep calm—he wasn’t successful in the least, but Pudding appreciated the effort, since he had no idea how he was going to go about providing comfort to someone he was just now coming to admit to himself that he cared for.

“Are you gonna, like, let me down gently or something?” Omurice wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

“No,” Pudding said patiently. “I like you too, Omurice.”

“You… I…” Omurice blinked at him. “Wait, wait, are… are you serious?”

“I don’t often joke around, do I?” Pudding sighed, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants as if it’d somehow lesson his terrible nervousness. “I never hated you in the first place. The sole reason I’ve been cold towards you is because you acted like _you_ hated _me_. I… can’t say I liked you very much when we first met, but yes, I’m serious that I’ve come to appreciate you as a person, and I… believe I can say that I like you.”

“Wait, so… as a friend, or—”

“Omurice,” Pudding said flatly. “I hardly think it’d be appropriate for me to respond to your confession by confessing that I like you as a friend.”

Omurice was silent for a long moment, then burst into a helpless fit of giggles, and oh dear that made Pudding’s heart do something it’d never done before. “Um, I’m sorry, I—I’m just laughing because… I dunno, I’m just surprised and—and really happy, I’m sorry!”

“That’s fine,” Pudding said, and to his surprise he found himself smiling. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

There was a long pause, then a very small voice: “Um, what actually happens now? I didn’t expect to get this far.”

“I don’t know,” Pudding admitted. “I certainly didn’t expect the evening to go this way.”

“Do you maybe wanna hold hands?” Omurice asked, staring at Pudding with such a hopeful expression that even if he’d wanted to decline, he wouldn’t have had the heart to do so.

“Sure,” Pudding said.

He reached out and took Omurice’s hand, and of course Omurice’s hand was just as sweaty as Pudding’s, but that was more comforting than anything else—he would’ve felt self-conscious if Omurice’s hands had been perfectly dry. Besides, he wasn’t overly concerned about clammy palms; he was too focused on how soft Omurice’s skin was and how warm he felt and how shockingly pleasant this moment was. The absolute last thing he had expected out of this experience was the start of a potential… well, _something_ … and yet he couldn’t have been happier about it. After all this time, it seemed all he and Omurice had needed was a few hours in very close proximity to sort out their feelings at last.

 

* * *

 

When, the next morning, somebody finally stopped to wonder where Pudding and Omurice had gotten off to and the entire restaurant ended up in a tizzy until Master Attendant remembered they’d asked the both of them to fetch some rarely-used supplies for a new dish they were trying, they were found in the small pantry at the very back of the restaurant, fast asleep. Master Attendant was glad they were alright and very apologetic for forgetting about them, as well as having neglected to mention the door would lock on its own; if anybody had anything to say about the position Pudding and Omurice had been in, cuddled up to each other with their arms and legs so intertwined they ended up with cramps later, everybody thought it best to keep it to themselves upon seeing the radiant and strangely knowing smile that graced Jello’s face.

**Author's Note:**

> you can tear my adhd omurice headcanon from my cold dead hands


End file.
